Using Your Brain is Not a Team Sport

Okay, here's how this works: I look at patterns. I see stuff happening, and I tell you - all of my friends and companions - what I see coming. Then you get to behave in a mocking, name-calling, or patronizing manner until I turn out to be right...then, it all starts over again.

For example: 20 years ago, I was a Star Trek geek marveling at the cool tech that I saw coming (cell phones, laptops, CDs/mp3s, GPS, etc.) ... and I earned the scorn and derision of my peers and adults for believing that these things would eventually get here. Many wedgies - few dates. And yet, here we are approaching 2010, and a lot of the stuff I was mocked for believing in is being sold at WalMart for under $400. But I'm still considered a geek.

I accept that there will always be naysayers. "That'll always be too expensive." Or "There will never be a market for that." But I've been right often enough about the conclusions I draw from what I see going on in the world that it gets old. And the truly distressing thing to me is that the things I am predicting - things I hope will happen soon enough to make a difference - have been given some unfortunate political stigmas.

Now, for many of you, politics is just another team sport. You have your favorite team, and you tend to let your thinking drift along the direction that your "coaches" tell you it should drift. Anyone disagreeing with you is either biased or misinformed, because your team is the best. And Heaven Forbid that anyone imply that YOU are biased or misinformed, because then the blood will flow!

Well, I don't have a team. I'm not vain enough to think of myself as a "referee", even for the sake of this lame analogy; and really, I'm not even a fan of the sport. I don't really care what political labels you associate with various issues.

Instead, I look at patterns; I see which way the wind blows, and I see the shadows that indicate rocks under the water. When you ask me - either directly, or by making observations of your own in my "hearing" - I will gladly share my opinions with you. All I ask in return is that you accept that I'm not stumping an "agenda" or trying to give some meaningless victory to the "other team".

After 9/11, a lot of people asked me "Why do people hate Americans?" Maybe it was insensitive of me to do so, but I answered that question honestly: "We are seen as too fat, too arrogant, and too powerful. We bully the world into doing things our way, and leave them the scraps. Most people resent that, and some feel moved to blow themselves up to teach us a lesson."

The response I got was not what I expected. I hoped for at least, "Gosh, how can we show people we aren't all like that?" What I got was, "Why do YOU hate America?"

I'm still pretty ticked off by that reaction. It's that "shoot the messenger", "for us or against us" mentality that made the last 8 years a frustrating slog. And it was that mentality that turned me off to candidate after candidate, until I was left with the one that showed some faith in an America that could handle constructive criticism.

It was hard for me to decide to support Barack Obama - not because he was black, or because he was young, or because I disagreed with his ideas. It was hard because he is part of a particular "team", and I knew that supporting him would identify me with that team.

But in the end, it was more important to me to be true to the objective decision that I had to make. It was more important to ask hard questions of those who insist that they have a lock on common sense. I have found that those who bray the loudest about their common sense have trouble answering those questions. Here are a small handful of them:

Question 1: Why is it okay to spend a trillion dollars, taking money out of the pockets of good, hard-working Americans and saddling our children with a nearly insurmountable financial burden to send our troops to Iraq... but it's NOT okay to spend a trillion dollars, taking money out of the pockets of good, hard-working Americans and saddling our children with a nearly insurmountable financial burden to fix all of the stuff that's broken because the last administration was preoccupied with invading other countries?

Question 2: Why do you argue that I can't have electric cars or solar powered houses because "there isn't a market for it", even though there are apparently markets for:

*a tobacco industry that sells an otherwise useless weed to people who then die from the effects of using the product
*a food industry manufacturing nutrition-free crap that contributes directly to our growing heart problems, diabetes, and obesity?
*oh, and don't forget those low-mileage, high capacity SUVs and trucks that are used as commuter cars - there is apparently a market for those, too.

Question 3: Why are we "a Christian nation with Christian values" until someone points out that Jesus said the opposite of whatever argument you're making... and then suddenly you're an "independent pragmatist and non-religious free-thinker"?

Question 4: Can you tell me the difference between "creating a large bureaucracy to suck TAXES out of our pockets to pay for health care for poor people", and "creating a large bureaucracy to suck PREMIUMS out of our pockets to pay for health care for poor people... after paying for bonuses for corporate executives"? (Hint: both suck.)

I don't believe that any one person or group of people has all the right answers. I expect that the team I've given my support to this year will make some mistakes. When they do, I'll call them on it.

But the other team has had the ball since 1994, and the patterns they've created lead to some pretty unpleasant conclusions. Before you sneer at me and dismiss my opinions, I need you to recognize that I have a pretty good track record, and the patterns are there for everyone to see.

And much like me, the patterns don't care what team you're on.

Fashion (non) Sense

There is a little girl crying in the room above me because I won't let her go to First Grade looking like a refugee from Cyndi Lauper's closet.

Considering my own "fashion history", and my generally laissez faire attitude to childrens' sense of stylistic expression, this really shouldn't be an issue. I really, REALLY don't care what anyone wears, as a rule, as long as no one gets arrested. If it was really my call, I'd say "whatever" without blinking.

But I have learned that this is not acceptable.

See, I let it go when Boy#1 decided to wear a green cammo turtle neck and grey cammo pants... with a red sweater vest emblazoned with a dragon. I also let it go when Boy#2 wore an over-sized T-shirt tucked into his baseball pants... which were pulled up to his armpits, by the way. And I frequently let it go when the eldest (the Tween, the middle schooler) wears a t-shirt and jeans (the fashionable, butt-cleavage revealing jeans)... and my Air Force BDU cap.

And my lovely bride never fails to mock me for allowing this to happen.

I have fought the battle with her many times.

"They are covered, they are warm/cool enough for the season, and it's all clean."

"But they look like idiots."

"That's apparently okay with them."

"Then *I* look like an idiot for allowing them to look like idiots."

"But it's obviously *my* fault, because I dropped them off."

"Then YOU are an idiot!"

So, when Cyndi Lou Who came downstairs to tell me she's Good Enough to go to school, I told the little Goonie to go change. I realize that Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, but I would really like to have a chance to have a pleasant conversation with her mother after school that doesn't involve my lack of fashion sense.

Time After Time, I went back to check on her progress, and she was still wailing at the unfairness of the universe. Her True Colors (pink, green, orange, and yellow) still clash from her ruffled mini and her tights to her nauseatingly striped shirt.

Then, just when I think I'm going to have to Drive All Night just to win this argument, the lovely bride calls to caution me that it's FAR too cold for them to go out in anything less than full Antarctic gear. Which means the tights must go. Which news the little girl takes with nary a blink, and toddles off to change into jeans.

Sheesh.

If God had meant for us to be naked, we'd have been born that way.
-Mark Twain

Friends of Karen: What It's All About

If you've been reading my blog for very long, you might remember one post entitled A Friend Indeed. I changed the names, and waxed poetic about some details, but that is essentially the story of my college-era friend, Karen.

I met Karen in the GCC Concert Choir in 1990, and over the next couple of years, she became an important part of my circle of friends. Every group seems to have a center, and Karen was ours. We all took for granted that she was going to finish her degree and start helping people, while the rest of us tried to figure out our place in the world.

Unfortunately, Karen began to suffer from chronic fatigue, which turned out to be caused by something far more serious. By 1995 she was confined to her bed, and her condition has continued to deteriorate over the years. Her mother, Patsy, is a retired school teacher, and she has been taking care of Karen for the last 16 years.

Meanwhile, that circle of friends had dispersed, as such circles do, and all we could do from a distance was send cards at holidays and birthdays, and pray. Some of us can't even offer prayer. Kids, careers, and all the things that come along with a life seem to carry us away and we can't always keep up with our past. But that doesn't mean we don't care.

We've all been marveling about how the internet has changed in the last few years. Equipment prices have come down, technology has improved, and we've seen an explosion in sites like Facebook and YouTube that make it so easy to reconnect with old friends, and be involved in their lives again. Of all the people I have known who could benefit from being online, it is a crying shame that Karen has not been able to take advantage of all of this technology.

I've started the paperwork to form a charitable organization, and have set up a website (see below) for collecting donations. What I'd like to be able to do is collect enough to buy a computer for Karen, and find one of our friends in her area (the Greater Phoenix Metropolitan Area) to help set it up and make sure she has everything she needs to get online and communicate with us.

I don't expect everyone to chip in, but if you'd like to help, you can donate through the website at http://sites.google.com/site/friends4karen/ I've started a cause, "Friends of Karen", on Facebook to keep everyone posted on our progress and to discuss developments (such as, "What kind of computer should we get?").

Thanks!

Why Skeletons Don't Have Kids...

Here is a small sample of life in our car. It was written a few years ago, when our eldest was 8, but you get the general idea. You won't get the full effect unless you read the parts aloud -- very loud -- and have a Greek chorus of gigglers accompanying you:

Dad: What a great dinner out at our neighborhood family restaurant.

Mom: Yes, and such amusing holiday themed activity books for the kids!

Eldest daughter, age 8: Hey! It's got jokes in it! "Where do elves keep their money?"

Mom: In a snow bank.

Eldest: Ha, ha! That's right!

Older Brother, age 5: Mommy! How did you know?

Little Brother, age 3: Knock, knock!

Little Princess, age 2: (shrieks with laughter)

Mom: I'm older than you, I know things.

Eldest: "What do snowmen eat for breakfast?"

Little Bro: Knock, Knock!

Dad: Cereal flakes?

Elder Bro: Who's there?

Princess: Eeeeeeeee!!

Eldest: That's right, dad! Gee, you guys are smart!

Mom: Enjoy that while she still says it.

Dad: No kidding! I like people who are easily impressed with me.

Little Bro: KNOCK, KNOCK!!!

Elder Bro: Somebody ask him 'who's there'!

Mom: Who's there, honey?

Little Bro: Uh.... POOP! Ha ha ha ha ha...

Princess: Poop! Aieeeeeee!

Dad: Oy...

Elder Bro: Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?

Eldest: Hey, that's not on there... they're supposed to be Christmas jokes!

Dad: Why didn't the skeleton cross the road, Schmoo?

Eldest: But that's a Halloween joke! It's Christmas!

Elder Bro: Because he had no guts!

Princess: Poopy guts! Ha ha ha ha....

Little Bro: Knock, knock!

Mom: Oh, nice.

Eldest: Why did the elephant stand on the marshmallow?

Dad: Huh?

Little Bro: KNOCK KNOCK!

Dad: Oh, God....

Mom: Why did the elephant stand on the marshmallow, darlin'?

Elder Bro: Who's there?

Little Bro: KNOCK KNOCK!

Dad: "Who's there?" already!

Princess: Knock, knock!

Eldest: So he wouldn't fall in the cocoa!

(silence)

Elder Bro: Cocoa? Ohhh.... I get it! Ha ha ha!

Little Bro: Knock, knock!

Mom: *sigh* Who's there?

Little Bro: Cocoa

Mom & Dad: Cocoa who?

(silence)

Little Bro: Uh... POOPY CHOCOLATE!! (pronounced "ch-LOCK-it")

Unison: HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!

Dad: Good grief...

Mom: Oh, good... we're home...

Princess: (chanting) Poopy, poopy, chocolate, chocolate...

Mom (to Dad): Is this really our life?

Dad: I'm afraid so.

Mom: Can we complain to somebody?

Dad: No one would believe us.

Little Bro: Uh... POOPY CHOCOLATE!!

Mom & Dad: ENOUGH!!

Answer to the subject line: Because they have no guts.

Chilly: The Elf Who Could Not Love

Everyone who knows about Christmas knows that Santa Claus runs a workshop at the North Pole, where all of the toys for all of the good little boys and girls in the world are made by cheerful elves. But not all of the elves are cheerful. There is one elf, named Chilly, who doesn't know how to love.

Chilly used to try to make toys like the other elves, but they never turned out quite right. When the other elves made dolls, they made pretty dolls with curly, bouncy hair of chestnut, ebony, or spun gold; with rosy, apple-round cheeks; with bright white, straight teeth; and with shining eyes of blue, brown or deep sea green. When Chilly made dolls, they had straight, spiky hair; pale, grey cheeks; muddy eyes; and a mouth that was a thin, crooked line.

When the other elves made toy horses, they had flowing manes and tails, mighty flanks, and saddles and bridles woven with gold and silver. Their race cars had bright paint and cool graphics. Their soldiers had sharp uniforms and impressive tanks and jeeps. Their trumpets and xylophones knew all the best songs, their Play-dough never dried out, and their yo-yo's always came back.

When Chilly made toy horses, they had knobby knees and yellow teeth, and their bridles were twists of twine. His race cars had smeary paint and crooked decals. His soldiers were missing boots, and their tanks and jeeps had bent cannons and dented radiators. His saxophones honked tunelessly, his Play-dough was a solid, brown blob of rock, and his yo-yo's always fell off their strings.

Santa shook his head sadly when he saw Chilly's toys, and said, "I can't give those toys to the good little boys and girls! Maybe we can find something else that Chilly can make." Chilly just shrugged.

The other elves tried to come up with a toy that Chilly could make, but his basketballs all came out flat, and his roller skates never had the right number of wheels. One elf even had the brilliant idea to have Chilly make all of the monster toys for kids that liked scary things, but Chilly's monsters didn't turn out right either: they either didn't have enough teeth, or he put flowers on them instead of tentacles. Poor Chilly just couldn't LOVE enough to make the kinds of toys that Santa could use.

But Santa Claus had other problems to worry about.

Every year, there were more and more children in the world. Santa had lots of helpers, but he was the only one who could deliver the toys on Christmas Eve, and he was starting to have trouble keeping up. He and his eight tiny reindeer flew from sunset in Japan until sunrise in Hawaii, and still just barely had time to visit every single house with children in it!

Finally, one year, Santa had an idea that he thought would save him some time. As you know, Santa takes presents to all of the good boys and girls, but he also takes a lump of coal for all of the naughty boys and girls in the world.

"If I stop taking all of that coal to all of the naughty children, I will have more time to visit the good children!" said Santa Claus. So, that's just what he did.

One year, instead of waking up on Christmas morning to find a lump of coal in their stockings (or under their pillow, if they were really naughty), all of the naughty children found nothing at all. And when they didn't get anything at all, they thought that Santa didn't care about them, so instead of trying to be good the next year, they started behaving even more badly than they had the year before. Some of them were so naughty that they turned the good boys and girls into naughty children, too!

When Santa saw what was happening, he grew very sad. "I will have to start delivering coal again, or I'll run out of good children altogether!" he said. "But how will I ever find the time to lug all of that awful coal AND my wonderful presents around the whole world in one night? I need one of my helpers to come along and deliver it for me." But all of Santa's helpers were too cheerful and kind to ever do something as mean as dropping coal into children's' stockings! How could he ask them to do such a stern thing, when they all had so much love?

Just then, an elf went by with a box full of toys that Chilly had made – a jack-in-the-box without a handle, a pair of bunny slippers with no ears, and a little red wagon with the wheels on the inside – bound for the trash pile. Santa had an idea. He sent for Chilly, and told him to meet him at the reindeer barn. When Chilly got there, Santa greeted him with a "Ho, ho, ho!" and told him, "I've found the perfect job for you, Chilly!"

That Christmas Eve, when Santa Claus got into his magic sleigh with all of the wonderful toys that the elves had made, Chilly climbed into a sleigh, too. Chilly's sleigh had a huge burlap sack filled with coal. And his reindeer was a grumpy old mule deer with one antler. And his sleigh had a bent runner that made it pull to the right. And Chilly went around the whole world with Santa that night, from sunset in Japan to sunrise in Hawaii, delivering coal to all the naughty boys and girls in the world.

Santa was thrilled to have a helper. Chilly was as happy as an elf who cannot love can be. Most important, the naughty children knew that Santa still thought about them, and they started trying to behave properly again.

So, if you get some nice presents this year, you can thank Santa, and pat yourself on the back for being so good all year long. But if you get a lump of coal, you should start doing your homework and picking up your room; and thank Chilly, the elf who could not love for reminding you!

When Things Got Serious

reposting in honor of Pearl Harbor Day

Bobby had enlisted in the Army in his hometown of Winter Park, Florida.

He did well in training, and ended up applying for a special school, hoping to become a pilot. The Army being the Army, he had to agree to taking a bunch of tests and special classes to qualify, and there was a pretty good chance he wouldn't be selected for pilot school... but he decided to go for it.

The specialty training include aircraft engine mechanic courses at Luke Field, located southwest of Phoenix, Arizona. The class was difficult, but Bobby was smart, and he didn't spend a lot of time and energy getting wasted after hours and on weekends, like some of his friends did. He preferred spending time at a church he had found. A church that hosted "mixers" on Friday and Saturday nights. Church mixers that had girls at them.

That is where he met Nancy.

Bobby and Nancy went out a few times, usually with Nancy's best friend -- whose name was Bobbe! -- and one of her boyfriends. Nancy was only 17, but Bob (it was too confusing having two "Bobbies") had also met her parents at the church, and they trusted him. Bob had even been to their house for Sunday dinner a few times.

Things were going just swell (his words, not mine). Bob and Nancy liked each other quite a lot, but she was still in high school. And being in training for the Army, he didn't know for sure where he would end up next. It was technically peacetime, but the Army was building up. There was talk of the trouble across the Atlantic, even though most Americans thought it was best to stay out of it.

They decided not to worry about it, and to take their time. It was a mature decision. And then Bob was selected for a special class he in California. He would be back after a few weeks, but maybe this meant he would get to learn to fly! So, he said goodbye to Nancy and promised to write to her often.

Not long after that, America was attacked, and everything changed.

There was confusion; there was fear. There were a lot of things happening all at once. Nancy's letters to Bob were frantic; she didn't know where he was, or if the rumors were true that California was next. She hadn't heard from her brother, a Technical Sergeant stationed in the Philippines. All she knew was that she loved Bob, missed him fiercely, and wanted him to be back safe with her.

By the time Bob managed to get a letter through, things had calmed somewhat. People at least knew the basics: the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor; the U.S. had declared war. The West Coast was not under attack. Nancy's brother, Richard, was safe for the time being, though he would be wounded in a sniper attack and end up the war as a guard at the POW camp in Papago, AZ.

Bob had also been turned down for officer training and pilot school. But this would turn out to be good news, because, as a high-scoring mechanic, Bob would spend the rest of the war at Luke Field, maintaining the trainers for the pilots of the P-38's.

And so, on the 28th of June, 1942, Bob and Nancy were married.

You could argue that without December 7, 1941, they might not have decided to wed. It's possible that without the shock of war, and the fear of losing each other, they might have drifted away and only been pen pals. But some things are meant to happen. After all, Bob did eventually learn to fly.

But that's another story altogether...

38 Lines About 19 Years

What a week for rediscovering old friends and new acquaintances. So many have asked for an overview, I felt I should post something that would serve as a standing "what I've been up to, more or less" to help people catch up. And when I sat down and shook the keyboard, this is what fell out. I don't claim this is a "good" poem, but poem it is.

(Apologies to The Nails.)

1990
Graduation came and went
One more Pomp & Circumstance night

1991
College life is just like High School
But with ashtrays in the halls

1992
Found a roomie and apartment
Found out that my folks were right

1993
Lost the girlfriend, job, and car
And shed all my slacker pals

1994
Finally gave in, joined the Air Force
(Anywhere but Osan, please)

1995
Wasted year on Han-guk-mal-oh
But at least I found a wife

1996
Rocked out, and got switched to Russkie
Started one new little life

1997
Half a year in roach-filled Texas
Then the move to Baltimore

1998
Orders came for Merry England
Just in time, 'cause we were bored

1999
Six weeks there is really awesome
We were there for three long years

2000
Had two boys (TV's expensive)
They're our favorite souvenirs

2001
Back to Phoenix, winning ball team!
But no jobs, then the Attacks.

2002
Unemployed, again expecting
Maryland said "Come on back"

2003
Worked our tails off (60 hour weeks!)
Clawing back toward "normalcy"

2004
Dad has two jobs, Mom has four
But we're breathing, finally

2005
Bought a house out in the county
Visit Phoenix, Christmas time

2006
Two girls, two boys, and a dog, now
No more kids (we drew the line!)

2007
Kids are older, we're all safer
(Kater joined the TSA)

2008
This year brought a lot of changes
Good or bad, it's hard to say

2009
Now we're looking forward, Hopeful
(This Space Intentionally Left Blank)